


Stupid

by kittenofdoomage



Series: Angst Appreciation Day 2017 [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: Angst Appreciation Day drabble





	Stupid

_ “When it comes down to it, you don’t trust me, Sam. How can I stay?” _

He tossed back another shot, feeling the burn of the whiskey as much as he felt the burn of his swollen eyes. It had been four days, and he still hadn’t stopped crying. Dean had left him to it, heading to bed, but Sam couldn’t sleep.

He’d only dream of her.

_ “I love you, you idjit. Don’t you see that?” _

God, how could he have been so stupid, and so blind? He’d driven her away, made her doubt his feelings. She said he didn’t really love her because he didn’t trust her, when it wasn’t that at all. But had he argued the point?

No, he’d let her run, because she’d be  _ safer  _ away from him.

Another shot of whiskey to dull the burn of how wrong he was. She’d left. Packed her things, all the little knick knacks and belongings she’d accumulated over the year she’d been in the bunker with him. Six years of on and off, leading to her finally staying, and he’d gone and fucked it all up.

_ “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”  _

His own words mocked him for how stupid they were. And the look on her face would always haunt him. A fresh sob tore itself from him throat, and he sank back another fifth, noticing the bottle was running low. How long had he even been drinking now?

_ “I’m just as capable as you or Dean. You’re not the only one who’s been doing this their whole life, Sam.” _

So stupid. So blind. So fucked up. She was more adept at some aspects of hunting that even he was. The truth was, he’d loved seeing the way she moved in a fight, the way she stalked the monsters, even the way she searched the lore like a woman possessed - excuse the pun. She was perfection, beauty, grace, everything he could have ever dreamed of in a woman.

Sam would have gone as far to say she was his soulmate.

And it took one idiotic comment to bring it all crashing down around him.

_ “Maybe you should hang back on this one. Your leg was pretty busted up.” _

One hunt gone wrong, and she had a fractured knee cap from a werewolf throwing her into a jukebox. It was something she’d bounced back from, and she’d returned to training herself, honing herself back into that weapon within weeks. But seeing her hurt had torn something up inside of him, and he’d constantly worried about the next hunt, the one after that, the one after that. He didn’t want to watch her die.

He didn’t, in the end.

_ “Sam, I know what I’m doing here. And if you can’t let me do my job…” _

His tears felt like diamonds cutting into his skin. The last image he had of her was cold and pale, just a body to identify. After everything he’d been so worried about, it had been such a human and mundane way to die.

Less than two hours after she’d driven away from the bunker, left him behind after he’d broken what they had, she’d been involved in a collision with a drunk driver. The other car had gone into a tree and killed the driver instantly.

Y/N had lain there for eight hours, in the freezing winter, slowly dying. Alone. Cold. With no one. Her phone was dead, and it was a deserted piece of highway. They couldn’t decide if exposure or the injuries she’d sustained from her car crushing her was the cause of death.

She’d still be alive if it wasn’t for Sam.

Opposite him, there were stacks of candid polaroids. Pictures of her, the only way he’d ever see her again. Did she die hating him? Or did she call out for him? He’d never know. Maybe he was cursed to kill every woman he loved.

“Sam?” Dean’s sleepy voice made him sit up, and Sam suddenly wondered what a mess he looked. “Dude, you haven’t slept in at least three days. You need rest. It’s six am.”

“I’m not tired.”

“No, you’re exhausted. You want something to help you sleep?”

He nodded dumbly at his brother’s enquiry, silently accepting the pills he offered him a few moments later. The sheets of his bed felt cold as he slipped between them, and for a moment, Sam wondered if the combination of alcohol and sleeping pills would actually kill him. He’d pay the price, gladly.

Wouldn’t bring her back though.

He closed his eyes, lying stiffly on his back. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered to the empty air. In his fantasy, she’d be there with him, even if she was a ghost. He deserved to be haunted by her spirit.

But they’d salted and burned her, like the hunter she was.

Like the hunter he should have let her be.

He wouldn’t be haunted. He’d never have her in his arms again.


End file.
